Of Carters and Sams and Motorbikes
by Caladria101
Summary: [SJ] He'd always been a sucker for women who laughed at his jokes


They'd managed to get dressed. Which was surprising. Because they'd spent the vast majority of the week oh-so-naked.

Not that he had any objection to naked Carter.

He'd tried calling her Sam. Awkwardly making the effort, stumbling over his words. She hadn't had any trouble with 'Jack'. But there again, she'd confessed, she'd been calling him Jack in the privacy of her own head for years. He'd grinned awkwardly and made an off colour joke about her calling him 'Sir'. Which fuelled the completion of another of his Carter fantasies.

The problem was that he'd started calling her Sam, sometimes, in the early years. And then he realised that Sam was altogether too attractive, and he'd reverted to Carter. It was never noticed, or commented upon if it was. Because he did that to anyone. To get a first name out of Jack was an indicator of just how close he was to a person. Charlie – Kawalsky – had slipped under the net years before his death at the hands of a Goa'uld. And then not always. Daniel was Daniel. That was a tacit admission that the younger man had saved his life, and a mark of his gratitude. Teal'c was… missing a part of his name, but "T" served the same purpose. Even Harry Maybourne occasionally got that recognition. And Jacob got lumbered with "Dad", though he swore that while General Carter may have bristled, Jacob liked and recognised it for what it was.

Damn, he missed the man.

But Carter was… Carter. He didn't need to use a first name. 'Carter' as a distancing technique was useless, because even if he could keep Sam distant, he had found himself inextricably drawn to Carter. Because Sam was beautiful. But Carter was beautiful after three days offworld in the rain, slogging back to the 'Gate, and still laughed at him when he asked if she'd noticed the wonders that the mud was doing for her skin, despite a weariness that soaked into all of their bones.

He'd always been a sucker for women who laughed at his jokes.

"Ready?"

He looked up. And his blood pressure and heart rate did some very interesting things. Sam Carter in leather. With a spare helmet that she was holding out to him.

"_Oh_, yeah."

She just rolled her eyes at him and handed him the helmet before leaving the house.

o…O…o

He clung on, though his manly pride refused to acknowledge the clinging part. At some point he'd realised that she was holding back and had managed to convey _Faster._ She'd given him a thoroughly approving look tinged with the sheer thrill of it all and they'd sped off at a rate that Jack didn't think a motorcycle like this should be capable of.

Knowing Carter it probably wasn't.

He shouldn't be surprised that Sam got her kicks from adrenaline fuelled races along the twisting roads. Carter got hers from flying spaceships through the coronas of suns and blowing stars up.

Turns out he never needed to tell her to get a life. He was holding his breath from the exhilaration of it, arms wrapped around her waist as he leant easily with her through the corners. He was sure that if he wasn't riding with her, she'd take these twice as fast, taking the machine to the limits and probably over.

But she did that with everything.

Including him.

She drew to a halt eventually, in a clearing by the side of the road, away from the city below them.

He dismounted, drawing his helmet off and running a hand through his hair as she secured her motorcycle.

Catching her eye, he grinned. A wild dizzying grin with no inhibitions attached. And she returned it. For a moment they stood looking at each other like the fools they felt they became in these moments, the moments when he realised that however much he loved the adrenaline – and he did just as much as her, it was only a mere shadow compared to what she made him feel.

He tugged her to him, neglecting to include the phrase that had preceded most of their physical contact in past years – she'd given him her eternal permission to touch her now – and kissed her, mixing the passion that he thought he'd long lost with the tempered knowledge that such moments were to be treasured; knowledge that came with age.

"Sweet," he murmured, his lips brushing her temple as he held her.

"You like?" she asked, a teasing note in her voice.

"Making out or bike?"

She laughed. That was another difference. Carter would have bitten her lip and repressed a grin or a grimace – Sam let him know exactly what she was thinking. "I think I've already figured out the first one…"

"You always were the smart one," he replied. He grinned, cockily. "Do I get a turn?" he asked jokingly. That bike was her pride and joy. Her baby. There was no way he'd ever get near it. The fact that she let him ride with her was telling enough. And more than he expected, if he was honest.

She smiled back at him – a truly happy smile that he'd never really seen before, only caught glimpses of during this past week and before that, never. He was absurdly happy that, for the minute, he was the cause of this amazing expression. There was still a part of him warning that he would screw it up; if not now, then later. But he'd have to trust that Carter knew him well enough to understand what he meant instead of what he didn't say.

A hand worked its way through his helmet-disordered hair. "Maybe," she answered finally, seemingly having been as caught in the moment as he'd been. "If you're very, very good."

"What if I'm very, very bad?"

He wasn't expecting a snort of repressed laughter to that. The hand in his hair made its way to the base of his skull as she buried her head in his neck.

"What?!"

Finally, she looked at him, eyes dancing with amusement. "I thought you hated clichés?"

"Some… clichés are good…"

"Follow the yellow brick road?"

"Coolest movie on the planet. Its always darkest before dawn?"

With his arms still round her, he felt rather than heard her breath hitch. "Jack…"

And her voice had so much that he just didn't want to look at right now, that was too painful for his fragile happiness. He wondered if she'd ever let Pete near her bike, cursing the path that his thoughts were taking but not being able to stop them. He wondered if the cop had urged her on faster or had just clung on – _round the waist that he was holding now _– and tried not to fall off.

He wasn't going to do this. He'd promised himself that he wasn't going to do this. Because if either of them had a past that was going to mar this, it was him. And yet, he couldn't help but wonder. Not _worry_, but wonder. But he'd never ask her. Aeons could pass and it would still be none of his business.

"And they're not technically clichés."

"How about the hero of the piece gets the girl?"

"You've got a girl stashed away somewhere, Carter? 'Cos, ya know, my mind's getting all these visuals…"

He stopped when she thumped him lightly on the chest, glaring at him though she couldn't quite suppress the wonder there at his words.

"Tough guy General turns out to be as soft as butter in the end?" she suggested, probably to cover up any embarrassment.

"Hey! I'm a tough guy through and through – stop wrecking my reputation! I'd say egghead with a need for speed but I'm thinking you defy clichés."

"Egghead?!" She was definitely amused now, snorting indelicately into his shoulder.

"Yep. I mean look at it! It's all… eggy-shaped."

"Dumb-ass Colonel turns out to be just as dumb as he looks?" he suggested ruefully after a few moments of her looking at him, then tried to settle his head on hers'.

Except suddenly she wasn't there. She was stood looking at him frostily from a few feet away, arms folded under her breasts, jaw set in a line that even he knew not to mess with, regarding him with an almost unnatural stillness. His arms fell down by his side, automatically going in his pockets to stop him playing with the hem of his jacket as he looked at her uncomfortably.

"Carter…?" he asked.

"I'm trying to decide whether to just get back on the bike and ride, or to kick you in the shins first," she answered evenly. "Or kick you somewhere else."

Ouch. And then, Very Ouch.

"Do you know," she continued, without letting him say anything. "Just how _much_ it pisses me off when you do that? Because you're _not_. And by saying that you are, you're not only insulting yourself, you're insulting the rest of us too, for being stupid enough to follow you. And I've had to keep my mouth shut so far, but if you have the sheer _stupidity_ to do it again, I will kick your ass."

He looked at her. Wow, she was…somewhere that encompassed both hot and scary when she was mad. And he'd never heard her rant like that before, although Daniel had mentioned her laying into Dad at some point. Still, the desire to jump her was being overridden by his sense of self preservation. Mostly.

"..Okay," he said, almost meekly. Even if he disagreed with her. Mostly. Because even if he wasn't as stupid as he claimed to be, he'd never reach anywhere close to her and Daniel's level.

She blinked once, obviously not expecting that response. Her fingertips traced along the motorcycle as if she was reminding herself that she could leave anytime she wanted. Except he knew she wouldn't. Because that would be leaving him behind.

She moved over again, not quite touching him but not maintaining such a huge distance that she could easily kick him anywhere. Which was reassuring and not-reassuring in different ways.

She nodded towards the distance. "This is what I was going to show you," she said.

His eyes first fell on the land, then drifted up.

"Meteor shower."

They stood there in silence for a few moments, watching.

"I'm not easy, Sam."

She looked at him for one long moment. "I know."

"You don't," he disagreed.

She quirked one eyebrow upwards. "You think I'd give in?"

He sighed, settling his gaze on nothing in particular before looking back, frowning. "No. But that's worse." Because if she didn't, he could quite easily drag her down too. He'd nearly done it once before, with another stubborn woman that loved him, though he was still clueless as to why either of them would.

And it seemed ironic that the first time that he'd admitted to himself that she loved him was under such circumstances. And somehow, highly appropriate.

"You're worth it."

He shook his head in silent denial. "How can you know that?"

She laughed, and he thought he detected a slight note of bitterness in there. "Because I'm Sam Carter. You think I know the answer to everything." Her voice had taken on a lighter tone; trying to jostle him out of his dark mood.

"Nope." And his tone was lighter now, because he'd heard the self-depreciation in her and he wanted it to go away.

"No?" she looked at him curiously.

"Just most things," he assured her. "Wormholes and apples and space/time, especially."

She grinned. She didn't want to, but there again when it came to him she rarely had. "You're an ass," she told him, stepping a little closer, within his personal space. He could smell her hair. And her smelling of his shampoo only made him fall all over again.

Because he knew Carter, and had fallen helplessly and hopelessly in love with her years ago. But this was _Sam_ in front of him, and Sam was a whole new mystery wrapped in an enigma, clichés be damned. He'd always known where he stood with Carter – the forbidden glances and flirting. But Sam was someone new. He'd never be having this conversation with Carter, and she'd never call him an ass. Well, not out loud, anyway. They were both oh-so-beautiful and amazing, and he got them both.

He'd officially stopped believing in karma, 'cos there was no way he deserved that.

"I _am_ an ass," he agreed.

"You're _my_ ass," she said, into his ear.

Being Carter's – or Sam's in any way, shape, or form seemed like a job offer he couldn't refuse, so he nodded. He was in way, way over his head. "Hell, yeah," he added emphatically, just to make sure his position on the matter was clear. "Even if your ass is prettier than I ever was." He grinned at her; a crooked, wry smile. "Does that mean I'm off the hook?" he asked jokingly.

"You were never _on_ the hook. It just… pisses me off when you do that."

No kidding. "Yeah, I got that."

Silence.

"We missed the meteor shower," she commented.

"Wanna go back?" he asked. She looked like she wanted to just ride, blow the conversation away from and off her.

"Yeah. Not much point in sticking around now." She reached into her pocket, drawing out the keys. She hesitated for a second, and then looked at him speculatively. She held out the keys to him, a question in her eyes.

"Really?" he asked with a grin.

"Really."

"_Really?"_

She laughed. "Yes! Really!"

"Sure?"

"Are you? Because if you don't want to…"

The keys abruptly disappeared from her fingers. "I'm sure."

"Treat it with reverence."

"I know. She's your baby," he replied, hoping to mollify her. "But I never broke the Stargate, and that's your baby, too."

She laughed. "I'll pretend that I didn't hear that."

"What?! I _never_ broke the Stargate. Ever. Much."

"Much," she agreed, slipping onto the bike behind him and holding on.


End file.
